


break a hard heart; heal a broken heart

by galerian_ash



Series: Wilderness [1]
Category: True Detective
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/pseuds/galerian_ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He started to get up, but froze as a hand gripped his. Rust's eyes were still closed and he appeared to be asleep, but the fingers that slowly intertwined with his seemed lucid enough.</p>
<p>Maybe it was just a reflex. He couldn't imagine that Rust had had a lot of human contact these past few years, after all. So perhaps his body had just reacted instinctively to the touch; desperate to hold on to something it had long been denied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	break a hard heart; heal a broken heart

**Author's Note:**

> The title is partly borrowed from a quote by John Newton.

It didn't take long for Rust to doze off once they were in the car. Which was good, since Marty had been worried about the drive back to his place — had anticipated every bump in the road, knowing damn well that they'd cause Rust pain.

So it was good, yes. For _Rust_.

Marty, on the other hand, found it extremely distracting. There was just something about the way Rust's head was tipped back, exposing his throat, all pale and still, that reminded him of that moment in Carcosa. He'd felt Rust dying, back there, calmly slipping away from life. Had felt it literally, as every sluggish beat of his heart pumped out more blood from the wound, no matter how much pressure Marty applied.

There was no blood now, thank God, but still. It bothered him immensely. The least Rust could do was slump undignified against the car door, mouth half-open and drooling, snoring loudly. But no, not Rust! He had to look like a damn corpse, all serene and terrifyingly _empty_ — like his soul had already left his body, never to return.

"Rust." The name escaped his throat without conscious thought, but came out more like a croak. He tried again. "Rust, hey."

"Mm?"

The reply was instantaneous, indicating that Rust wasn't really asleep after all. Marty suddenly felt very stupid.

"No, it's nothing."

"Y'sure?"

"Yeah, I was just..." Oh, fuck it. He might as well be honest. "Just making sure you were still with me."

Rust didn't reply to that, but when Marty risked a glance he found a pair of blue eyes, silently regarding him. They were unreadable, and Marty quickly turned his attention back on the road.

\----

By the time they arrived at his place, Rust _was_ asleep. He'd curled up a little on his side, facing Marty. His eyebrows were drawn together in a little frown, as if the position was painful even through the haze of sleep.

Marty didn't want to wake him up.

Sighing, he got out of the car and walked around it. He opened the passenger door and leaned in, unbuckled the seatbelt and then tried to get a good grip on Rust. He was all lean muscle; how heavy could he be?

Pretty damn heavy as it turned out, not to mention unwieldy. Marty finally got a decent enough hold on his long limbs, and began climbing the stairs. Unlocking the front door proved to be a total nightmare, keys clenched in his right hand — the same hand that was under Rust's knees. He left them hanging in the door; he needed to go back out and lock the car anyway, and could get them then.

He'd planned on making Rust sleep on the couch. Now, standing in front of it, with Rust's warm body in his arms, it no longer sat right with him.

"Oh, goddammit," he muttered, and turned for the bedroom.

Rust stirred. He let out a questioning sound, more asleep than awake — but still clearly aware of Marty's presence.

"Sorry. Go back to sleep, buddy."

Rust apparently took that as his cue to get more comfortable, settling his head in the crook of Marty's shoulder. He could feel Rust's breath, coming in soft little puffs against his throat.

It was a relief to set Rust down on the bed, in more ways than one. But, were he to be completely honest with himself, it felt a bit like a loss, too.

Marty knew from experience that the hospital gown wasn't very warm, so he spent a few minutes tucking Rust in. As he did, he realized that Rust's hair was still tied back. He remembered Maggie complaining about that once, about how uncomfortable it was to sleep with a hairband — it pressed against your scalp or something.

After a moment of hesitation he sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Rust, and leaned over him. He put one hand at the back of Rust's neck, lifting his head to gain access to the hairband. He got it off without a problem, but the hair instantly became static; gluing itself to the side of Rust's face.

He couldn't very well leave it like that, but he could just imagine Rust's reaction if he were to wake up. Stroking Rust's face was a step up from simply watching him sleep, after all.

Hoping he'd just stay asleep, Marty gently smoothed back his hair. It was softer than he'd initially thought, but he knew that already. Touching Rust's face and hair was another flashback to Carcosa, and it made Marty grit his teeth.

He started to get up, but froze as a hand gripped his. Rust's eyes were still closed and he appeared to be asleep, but the fingers that slowly intertwined with his seemed lucid enough.

Maybe it was just a reflex. He couldn't imagine that Rust had had a lot of human contact these past few years, after all. So perhaps his body had just reacted instinctively to the touch; desperate to hold on to something it had long been denied.

Without really meaning to, Marty squeezed his hand. After a little while, Rust squeezed back.

"Stay."

The request was so quiet that Marty almost thought he'd imagined it, then Rust's eyes opened — just a thin sliver, but the plea in them was clear as day.

And Marty understood, he really did. The worst thing about being stuck in a hospital was the nights. The silence hung heavy, oppressive and bleak, with only the beep of machines to keep you company. It made you feel like you were utterly alone; like you'd always be alone, no matter what you did.

When Marty had been released, he'd slept with the TV on for the first couple of nights. He had needed the background noise, even if it wasn't as reassuring as the sound of another person's breathing.

That was all Rust was asking of him. Just some company for the long night.

"Alright," Marty said. "Car's still unlocked, so if it gets stolen _you_ get to hunt down the culprit."

Rust snorted.

"I'm serious," Marty replied, as he stretched out beside Rust. "You gotta do something to earn the partnership, after all. 'Hart & Cohle Investigative Solutions' has a pretty nice right to it though, don't you think?"

"...Would sound better with my name first."

Marty rolled his eyes and flicked him off.

Rust returned the gesture, a small smile quirking his lips.

"You're on board, then? We always did work best together — not that I haven't done fine by myself, don't get me wrong," he quickly added.

Rust's smile faded. "What I said back then, about you being nothing without me... I didn't mean it, Marty."

"Forget it. I said some pretty shitty things to you, too."

Silence settled over them. After a while, Marty realized that he had yet to receive an answer. Their hands were still clasped together, so he gave Rust's hand a prompting shake.

Rust understood. "Yeah, okay. If you're sure you want to. You don't need to change the name though, I don't-"

Marty cut him off. "We do this, we go fifty-fifty on it — including the name. And yes, I'm sure. Are you? I mean, if you have something else planned..."

"I quit my job, said I wouldn't be back. The only thing I planned on was dying."

He'd known that. Regardless, it still felt horrible to actually hear Rust saying it. There wasn't much he could say in response, other than the truth.

"I'm real glad you didn't."

Rust turned his head, and their eyes met. It was an intent gaze, as if he was searching for something. Whatever it was, it seemed he found it — a slow smile spread across his face, and he nodded.

"Yeah, so am I."


End file.
